#vesemir
In many ways, Kaer Morhen was exactly as Jaskier had pictured it: The ancient, crumbling stone walls of the keep; the dark, high ceilings of the main hall; the pleasure of watching an array of fine men stripped shirtless and training in the courtyard, sweaty and buff, strong and elegant in their movements.
In other ways, however, winters in the witcher castle were not at all like he had imagined. The main hall was no longer dark and foreboding in the evenings when the fire was lit - instead, it was warm and cosy, with fur rugs thrown over the benches and logs crackling merrily away in the ample fireplace. Vesemir would cook enormous batches of hearty stew, seasoned with herbs collected from around the keep, and the witchers would gather round the long wooden table to eat and tell stories together.
And then there was the knitting. That had been most unexpected.
Jaskier had expected the sword training, and the fitness drills, and the alchemy lessons. But coming down to the hall to find Vesemir lecturing the witchers on the finer points of wool crafts - that was not something he had ever envisioned.
Geralt was methodically working on a thick woolen blanket with an elaborate braided design, an expression of calm contemplation on his face. Eskel was beaming proudly as a jolly bobble hat took shape before him. And Lambert was scowling intently at a pair of bright pink stockings, slightly misshapen.
Vesemir must have caught the amused look on Jaskier’s face. “Making and mending warm clothing can be a matter of life and death in a cold climate, bard!” he chided. In a low voice, he added, “And it makes them happy to create something for once, instead of destroying.”
Jaskier nodded and slipped onto the bench next to Geralt, peering at the soothing, methodical movement of his hands. “How’s it work?”
“Just like this,” Geralt held up his needles, the soft yarn stretched between them, looping one part over another over and over again, forming a neat row of plush, squishy fabric. The blanket looked thick and warm, obviously made with love and attention.
“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said with a smile. It was beautiful to see Geralt like this too, relaxed and at ease, the faint hint of a smile on his face. For once, his shoulders were loose, without the weight of the world on them, the repetitive flow of his movements almost meditative.
“I’m glad you think so,” Geralt said, blushing at the tips of his ears and focusing on his stitches. “It‘s a gift for you.”
Kaer Morhen is everything Jaskier has dreamed of. Foreboding stone walls stretch high into the frigid air, seemingly hewn from the mountain itself. The gates are solid oak, iron-hard from decades of weathering, and as they swing open to reveal the ancient keep beyond he feels an overwhelming rush of possibility.
“Geralt, you grumpy fuck!” Lambert yells. “Good to see you.”
He jogs over and embraces Geralt manfully, with a lot of slapping each other on the back involved.
“Oh.” Lambert’s grin widens as he turns to face Jaskier. “And what a delight to see you again, sweet thing.” He steps forward and puts an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him close. Jaskier can feel the heat from his body as they press together and the warmth of his breath tickles his nose. “Will you be keeping up company this winter? Lucky us.”
Jaskier can’t help it. He giggles and feels a blush spreading over his cheeks. It certainly is nice to be appreciated for once.
“Erm.” Geralt’s tense voice shatters the moment. “You two… know each other?”
“Our paths have crossed before.” Lambert winks and Jaskier’s blush deepens. “Wasn’t expecting to see him here though, what an unexpected pleasure for me.” He releases him, but not before swatting his arse playfully. Jaskier giggles again and Geralt makes a strained sound.
“Jaskier,” Geralt growls under his breath. His forehead creases into a frown. “Have you… you and Lambert…”
Jaskier hums noncommittally. Sometimes these things happen when on the Path. Geralt should know that better than anyone.
“I’ll go and get Eskel,” Lambert says breezily. “I’m sure he’ll want to see you both.”
“Both?” There’s a vein throbbing at Geralt’s temple. “I don’t understand. Jaskier, did you -”
Jaskier is saved from having to answer that particular question when another witcher appears in the doorway to the keep. “Vesemir!” he calls. “Hello again!”
“Greetings, pup!” Vesemir waves cheerfully. “You do bring colour and song with you as always. Come on, get inside where it’s warm.”
Geralt has gone very pale. “Vesemir too?” he hisses.
Jaskier shrugs. “He has this sexy older man thing going on, you know, it’s actually rather appealing -”
Geralt is staring at the ground like a man reconsidering all of his life choices. Eventually he sighs. “This is going to be a long winter, isn’t it?”
It was going to be a very long winter. Lambert was still gleefully chuckling, eyeing up Jaskier like he was the sweetest dessert in the whole of Kaer Morhen. If asked, Jaskier would have heartily agreed. However, before anyone could move, a delighted coo rang though the air.
“Little Lark? You come to make these dreary old halls echo with your song?”
Squealing, Jaskier bounded across the space and took a running jump at the newcomer. “Aiden! It’s been too long! How’s Gaetan doing? And Letho?”
Next to Geralt, Lambert stood stock still, his smile melting off his face.
“Seriously?” He spluttered and watched Aiden spin Jaskier around in a hug. That was how Aiden greeted him usually. Lambert bitterly regretted thinking he’d been special all this time.
Geralt smacked Lambert on the back. “Welcome to the club.”
But what if Vesemir was a farmer who adopts all of the abandoned pets he finds? What if Geralt and Co are a bunch of dogs, now happily living with him? What if-
okay but jaskier tries to play footsie with geralt beneath the table at kaer morhen but the problem with just SO FUCKING MANY tall people is that it’s easy to lose track of who’s who among the long legs beneath the table without looking, so really jaskier has played footsie with every wolf BUT geralt
this needs to written
thinking about how vesemir could dress up as santa for babie witchers
Like oil to water, fuel to fire (Vesemir&Lambert, 1.563 words)
So, a while ago i started writing a little ficlet as a tribute to this illustrationby@ladydenkiart which gave me all the feels. I took some liberties but it’s just as angsty i believe :3c
cws: poisoning, blood (in very small amounts), vomiting, mentions of minors overdosing on potions (please let me know if i missed any!)
It’s Vesemir’s fault.
He’s let Lambert mess around with highly toxic potions. He’s usually stern about this — “If there’s a recipe, it means at least one person already went ahead and died so you wouldn’t have to figure out the right proportions yourself.” But Lambert, brilliant, stubborn Lambert, who used to drive the old potions master crazy because he would only let everyone see how much potential he actually had when he was ready to put in the work — he managed to coax Vesemir into letting him tweak the Tawny Owl’s recipe (“Come on Vesemir, just trust me on this, I swear it’s safe, I’m doing this for all of us, come on Ves fucking trust me for once”).
The pup claimed he’d managed to find a way to make its energizing properties more potent, something involving stronger doses of wolfsbane and arachas venom. Vesemir had raised an eyebrow at that and Lambert had scrambled to explain that he’d found a way to counteract the harmful effects of the last two ingredients. Vesemir hadn’t caught everything; he liked knowing just enough about potions that it wouldn’t deter him from using them completely, preferring to remain not blissfully, but at least partially unaware of the many ways in which the toxic, poisonous, corrosive ingredients were eroding his body sip by sip.
Come join the Witcher Vesemir in his bath
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Just saw a post that was like “the umbrella academy isnt found family, its forced family” which i think also describes the witchers pretty well
